


July 13th

by altairattorney



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bonding, Episode: s02e08 Blendin's Game, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: When life punches you in the face, you punch back. Harder.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PengyChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/gifts).



> This was supposed to be my 2015 birthday gift for pengychan. It turned out to be over one year late – it took me that long to come up with the right idea to fill her prompt. It’s canon that Stan gave Soos boxing lessons when he was a kid, and I was wondering what the occasion could be. While thinking and thinking, I happened to remember I share my birthday with Soos… and here we go!  
> Pre-series, based on Blendin’s Game.

At 7 AM, the register is empty. The drawer in Stan’s mind fills up with money, and the one goal that matters is a way to make more.

The possibility of extra daily tours hasn’t grown any less alluring through the years. Thinking about it is still enough to make his hands rub themselves together by default. Even though he sits at the counter, he is too busy calculating how much he could charge to notice the doorbell.

The creak of the handle which follows is quiet, but loud enough for his terror of being robbed. Stan’s head jerks up instantly. At 7 AM, the door is supposed to stay closed, like the rest of the town is supposed to be sleeping. Not that it applies to him – it is the thirteenth of July, and July means middle of the high season.

He walks to the entry with caution. No suspicious silhouettes on the other end of the glass. Instead, what he finds on the other side is the saddest little face he can remember seeing.

_Unsettling._

“Soos. You’re early,” he groans.

Like an oily stain, terror propagates within the pair of big brown eyes.

“Did I wake you, Mr. Pines?”

“Yeesh, kiddo. In case you didn’t notice, I’m dressed.”

He is used to seeing Soos’ face alight with admiration, mostly in secret. When the expression wanes so quickly, he is naturally taken aback. 

Having him as a handyman for one year has taught Stan well. It takes something real big to discourage this kid.

“Sorry, Mr. Pines.”

“Anyway, you’re one hour ahead of your working time. What are you doing here? I didn’t ask you to slave over anyth- I mean, work off, did I?”

The answer never arrives. Indeed, it is not like Soos. All of a sudden, he has lost all interest in talking, and focused  it on his own feet. 

“I… don’t think so,” the boy stutters. “No, you didn’t, Mr. Pines.”

In ninety-nine out of a hundred cases, Stan would shut the door in his face, yawning to come back at the right time. The kid caught the lucky exception, what are the odds. Too awake to walk inside, unable to move, he lingers in the doorway and lets his tongue articulate words at will.

“Then tell me why you are here, kiddo.”

Stan is not sure he can understand what comes next, or why. Soos’ voice explodes all at once, uncharacteristically high-pitched and a bit too shaky for his taste.

“Sorry, Mr. Pines, I- I don’t want you to pay me, Mr. Pines, I just- can I please start now? Please? Just this once?”

No, Stan doesn’t get it. But a single look is enough to kill the questions in his mouth.

“The shelves need tidying again, Soos. Off you go. And _do_ start from the lower ones today.”

He turns around at the speed of light, just in case the tiny face lights up too much.

*

_“The solution is simpler than you think, kid.”_

_It doesn’t help that much. Stan holds on to his grudge tightly, just a little more than he does with his father’s hand. Only the halls of the unfamiliar building, so full of space and chatter, soothe the pain by inspiring him curiosity._

_“There’s only one thing to do when life punches you in the face,” Filbrick says, unmovable in his idea of wisdom. “Take a look.”_

_Stan watches him open the square doors, source of the noise, open wide. The scene he finds makes his bruised cheeks stretch out in amazement. The gym is spacious, well-furnished, and chock-full of kids his age. Ready to fight._  
  
His gaze moves back to Filbrick. He is wearing one of his rare smiles.

_“See, Stan? When life punches you in the face, you punch back. Harder.”_

*  
  
Ignore employee’s personal feelings. Ignore private life. Ignore raise demands. Stan never lets go of his employee protocol – even less in high season, when it can only get stricter.

Around midday, the sadness hasn’t toned down yet, and his resolve begins to fall apart. 

At 2 PM, Soos refuses to end his shift. Stan refuses to investigate. The twelfth special tour ends at four – the exact time when Stan decides he can’t endure the thirteenth tent opening on a crying cashier. At five, he drags the kid in the living room with a jar of cookies. The kid doesn’t eat.

“I see,” Stan mumbles. “We really gotta talk.”

Damn it all, he changed his mind. This is no one’s lucky day. From the way Soos keeps his mouth shut, he does not plan on helping solve this mess. For how much he likes being called Mister Mystery, and all he is trying to accomplish in the shadows, Stan hates to recognize how clueless he can be in front of this one sad kid.

“Listen here, Soos,” he grunts. “I may seem… kind of dense from time to time. Truth is I am super intelligent. And, you see, sadness is not good. For, uh, for the business. And if someone is, say, sad, then there’s a reason why. As your employer… I need you to let me on this. What’s the deal?”

For a moment, the constant depression Soos has showed throughout the day is veiled by fear.

“D-did I do something wrong, sir?”

“No, no, forget it! Uh. Dammit.” He exhales loudly. “It’s fine. Um… listen, kid.”

He is this close to getting on his knees, and Soos is on his favorite chair now. Stan barely pays attention.

“Wouldn’t it be better… for productivity… if, y’know, you- tried to rest, took something like… a day off?”

It’s the first time he pronounces the words. He can feel their struggle to get out of his mouth. While Soos does show a touch of surprise, it immediately drowns in a silent head-shake. 

Back to the silence. Fantastic.

The drops rolling down Stan’s forehead are not actually there. Still, if asked, he would say he is sweating buckets. His knees, forgotten, lie on the carpet, as his hand instinctively reaches for his pocket.

“Ok, kid. Spill the beans,” he says, not sounding so firm anymore. “Is it a matter of pay? If it’s, y’know… a problem of money… tough times in the family… you gotta tell m-”

“Mr. Pines,” Soos chokes.

It’s all he can say before he switches to full-on sobbing.

Stan never got an answer, but he doesn’t need one. The echo of ancient worries, the sickening mixture of terror and helplessness, comes to life like a siren at the back of his mind. He wishes he could measure that worry, contain it, somehow. But he can’t.

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging! What is going on with you? How much do you need?”

“Please.” The weakest voice he could imagine interrupts him. “It’s not that, Mr. Pines.”  
  
“No?”  
  
Stan’s reply is close to a whisper. An instinctive need to counterbalance the yelling.

“No, it isn’t,” Soos sniffles. “It’s just… it’s my birthday. Today.”

*

 _“How does it feel, then?”_  
“Fabulous!”  


_There is no visible pride in Filbrick’s gaze, as far as normal days go. But today, from the centre of the gym he knows like his home, Stan can see a special angle in the hard lines of his face, and the lighting on his glasses reflects triumph._

_For once, he is the best at something he can show off._

_“Good,” Filbrick says. “Keep it up to the last moment of your life, kid, and everything’s going to be different.”_

*

“What _is_ wrong with your birthday, kiddo?”

That turns the connections into something even harder to make. Darnit, Soos. It would be so much easier if he just spoke, loud and imposing, like the dozens of other monster children rampaging through his Shack every day.

But this is no monster child. Like it or not, this is Soos. As much as it annoys him, Soos is not like the others.

Stan already knows he won’t act like the others.

“Mr. Pines,” he says, as soon as he can speak firmly. “If I promise to work better… harder… can I not…? I mean… I don’t feel like talking about it at all. I’m sorry.”

Soos’ eyes are still hurt, but his tears are full of molten hope. He waits, completely sunken in his trust, for Stan’s answer to come.

Which doesn’t.

 _Surprise, surprise_ , Stan mentally screams.  _Look whose tongue the cat got now._

In any case, when the paralysis finally slips from his limbs, he doesn’t have much to say.

“Wait here, kiddo,” he blurts out. “Don’t go.”

Half an hour later, when Soos is equal parts exhaustion and curiosity, he returns with a dusty pair of boxing gloves.

“They should be your size.”

Stan doesn’t even try to hide the embarrassment. He is too focused on handling how the smile stretches on the boy’s face.

It’s like he is smiling for the first time in years. To Stan’s surprise, it does not hurt to look at. .

“Off we go, to the yard.”

It may even be normal, in the future. More than one occurrence. More smiles.

Stan faintly realizes he will have to live with it.

*

_“Well, well, well!”_

_Stan’s laughter is booming. A roar of contentment. The umpteenth bully, half-crushed under his delicate treatment, gives up on annoying Ford without a second thought._

_“Who’s the wimp now? How does it feel to be the wimp?”  
_

_It’s great, he thinks, to find out how it feels to be a winner._

*

The box of postcards lies, abandoned, at the foot of Soos’ bed. At the top of the pile, the moonlight throws its shine on a brand new piece of paper, marked Los Angeles.

Right by its side, closer to him, he has thrown his new pair of boxing gloves. A little old, a little scratched, they are still worth the world to him.

He is captured by sleep before he can focus on the thought. One more thirteenth of July has passed – bringing his usual gift, bitter and unfair, and a surprise well beyond his happiest dreams.

There are wounds which cannot be closed fast, nor can they be mended alone. Soos knows not even Stan could help him in one day, and that is fine. Come what may, he won’t let go of the pain for a very long time. 

But what Stan did for him – not even asking why – _that_ is something he will never want to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus
> 
> “Hello? Oh, yes, Pines. It’s me. Yes, I did submit a petition to the White House. So, when is the calendar gonna- hey! Hey! Whaddya mean, illegal? Banned from what? HEY! COME BACK!”


End file.
